


With Arms Outstretched

by lizwontcry



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Gen, Jesse x Alaska, Jesse x happiness, Post El Camino, Post Felina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24212038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizwontcry/pseuds/lizwontcry
Summary: Jesse is enjoying the peace and quiet in Alaska, when Walt somehow finds a way to reach out to him even from the afterlife.Jesse -I don’t know why I’m writing this. We both realize where we stand; we both know too much has happened to ever consider healing the wounds of our fractured relationship--dare I even call it that? I am most likely going to die tonight, so this is probably pointless. Frankly, I don't even know if you're alive, and I’m not so sure I want you to be.
Relationships: Jesse Pinkman & Walter White
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	With Arms Outstretched

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I just binged this amazingly beautiful show and I needed to get this out of me. Thanks for reading, and I love me some kudos and comments! This is post El Camino, so it would be helpful to have seen that but not entirely necessary, I suppose.

_It's sixteen miles to the promise land  
And I promise you, I'm doing the best i can  
Now don't fool yourself  
In thinking you're more than a man  
Cause you'll probably end up dead  
I visit these mountains with frequency  
And i stand here with my arms out_

*** With Arms Outstretched - Rilo Kiley ***

*****

He doesn't deserve to be this happy.

This is the thought Jesse has every single morning he wakes up in a cozy, warm bed, with the bright Alaskan sun shining through the windows. Every morning that he doesn’t open his eyes to the inside of a cage; every day that he rises feeling clear and present and not in some meth-induced haze… he’s just so goddamn grateful.

He is renting a quiet, secluded cabin in the mountains. There’s almost no reception and the internet is a joke, but his landlord didn’t even blink an eye when Jesse offered him a huge pile of money instead of going through the whole paperwork process. This obviously reminded him of Jane and her "Don't Be An Asshole" policy. Ah, Jane… he never stops thinking about Jane and her “go with the universe” bullshit that he wishes he could just believe. It would make his life so much easier. But he's seen too much to believe in anything. He hopes a few more months and reflection in Alaska will keep him from being so jaded--he kinda misses the easy-going, free spirit Jesse. 

The silence of Jesse’s existence is what keeps him whole these days. There is no huge stereo system that fills half the room here; there are no hard partying scumbags that take up residence in his home. He has no friends in Alaska, obviously--the cabin is on the outskirts of Haines; his closest neighbors are miles and miles away. There’s a small grocery store in Skagway that he rides the ferry to occasionally. The cashier is a nice older lady that actually reminds him a little bit of his mother. 

Jesse finds many different ways to pass the time. He reads a lot. He bought a second-hand camera and finds himself going on long walks, taking pictures of all the beautiful things that Alaska has to offer. Of course, he's also spending countless hours trying to improve his woodworking skills. He finds so much comfort in the smooth lines of the wood. At some point, Jesse’s going to take a class, or many classes. But for now, he finds contemplating the future--a future free of dealing drugs, free of running from the cops, free of Walter White--as much-needed peaceful solace. Jesse fundamentally understands he has PTSD, and should probably look into getting some therapy someday. That just might be kind of hard for a while, seeing that he's still a "person of interest." So instead he reminds himself to take deep breaths. He goes on long walks in the cold Alaskan afternoon, admiring the golden hue of the sun's reflection on the mountains. He even writes in a journal, but to anyone else it would look like incoherent nonsense. It's working for him, for the moment. 

Often, when he falls to the ground when he hears a car backfire in the distance, or when the wind howls a certain way and he's transported right back to the cage he lived in for months... he thinks about the satisfaction of strangling Todd until his neck broke and he died a hard, painful death. Jesse realizes that's not a great coping method, but he got to kill that son of a bitch himself, and that definitely helps when nothing else seems to do the trick. 

Maybe someday he’ll write his own book about his still short life up to this point. But probably not. Jesse already has to live with the memories, why inflict them upon others? He doesn’t need that kind of judgment or scrutiny. The only people who truly know what happened are him and Walt. Well, Hank and his partner, too, but they’re dead and buried now. He hopes someone finds them in the desert someday. They deserve closure.

Speaking of closure…

Jesse yawns and looks out his window at the snow-covered mountains. He tries to find the answers in those mountains sometimes, but the mountains are reluctant to talk. Jesse has to figure it out on his own, they seem to tease him mockingly. 

Before he gets out of bed, Jesse takes stock of how he feels on this particular morning. Not surprisingly, his back hurts basically every hour on the hour, even when he’s sleeping. Being hooked up to a ceiling chain will do that to a person. Being made to demonstrate the sturdiness of the ceiling chain repeatedly will also do that. His wrists hurt. His ankles hurt. At least it’s all the usual and no new injuries to report today. Sighing, Jesse slips his feet into his moccasins (hey--Alaska is cold in the morning, damn it) and walks to the kitchen.

While Jesse fixes himself some coffee, he realizes this will be the day he reads the letter. Why this day, when every day is basically the same? Why is the temptation to read the letter so strong on this cold, September morning? Much like everything else in his life, there is no reason. It just is. 

About three weeks ago, during his weekly grocery run to Skagway, Jesse checked his box at the post office. He mostly just gets a few magazines and small deliveries, since the only person who knows the address is Ed, who set it up for him to receive updates if needed. Ed has sent him a few letters over the past couple months Jesse has been in Alaska, mostly giving him a summary of the latest news. Once he sent over an Albuquerque newspaper clipping that Jesse couldn’t bring himself to read. The headline was “Walter White Dead, Empire Crumbled.” It was hard enough to hear his death announced on the radio, although it didn't come as a huge shock to Jesse or whatever. Walt was on death's door when Jesse sped away past the locked gates in his El Camino. Still... it's complicated. 

Jesse was pleased to see a large manila envelope that must have been from Ed, addressed to Robert Driscoll. Although he enjoys his solitary lifestyle, it’s nice to keep in contact with someone back home. He took his High Times magazine (some things never change) and the envelope with him on the ferry. Although the ferry was nearly empty; it was only him and a teenage girl who never got off her phone, he still waited until he got home to read what Ed had sent him. 

Inside the manila envelope was a post-it note, and another white envelope addressed to Jesse. Jesse’s stomach sank when he saw the writing on the envelope. He'd recognize that pain in the ass school-teacher handwriting from anywhere. _What in the fuck…_

Hating himself because he can't help but blink back tears, Jesse sat down on the well-worn couch that came with the cabin. He read the post-it note first.

_Mr. Driscoll - the weirdest thing happened today. I was at the shop, fixing an ancient Dyson vacuum, when Skyler White comes in. She looks about as good as someone who just lost her meth kingpin husband and has an idiot public defender for a lawyer possibly can. She gave me this envelope and said that Walt wrote it in her kitchen before he left for good. Obviously she wasn’t thrilled about it, but she said Walt asked her to bring it to me in exactly two months, and that I’d know what to do with it. That old bastard, being a son-of-a-bitch even in the afterlife. Anyway, read it or burn it, either one, or both._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Ed_

Not surprisingly, Jesse had about a million conflicting emotions about this so-called letter Walt wrote him. Anger was the most comfortable and familiar one he was experiencing. What could he possibly have to say that wasn’t already said? It was clear that Walt, up until the second he saw Jesse enter the clubhouse in chains, thought that Jesse was willingly, happily betraying him by working side by side with Todd and his revolting family of nazis. So… what the hell did Walt want in these last moments of his life?

Jesse didn’t want to read it. He put it in an empty drawer in the kitchen--but that was too visible, so he buried it in his closet underneath a few winter coats. Every day he’d walk around the cabin, making breakfast, listening to music, working on his newest woodworking projects, and ignoring the letter. 

Today’s the day. It’s time.

Jesse gets a cup from the cabinet and pours the coffee, adding some cream and sugar, and sipping it slowly. He stares at the closet in the living room, willing himself to not be an idiot and just read the damn thing. Sighing again, Jesse has another sip of coffee and then walks to the closet. He finds the envelope, and sinks down to the floor against the wall. He stares at Walt’s annoyingly perfect handwriting and then gingerly opens the envelope.

_Jesse -_

_I don’t know why I’m writing this. We both realize where we stand; we both know too much has happened to ever consider healing the wounds of our fractured relationship--dare I even call it that? I am most likely going to die tonight, so this is probably pointless. Frankly, I don't even know if you're alive, and I’m not so sure I want you to be._

_But… I’m at Skyler’s new (awful) place, and I’m about to say good-bye to my wife and daughter for the last time. My son doesn’t want to acknowledge my existence, which is fair enough, I suppose. I have put them all through a hell of an ordeal. Correction--_ everyone. _I have put everyone through a hell of an ordeal. Speaking to Skyler a few minutes ago, I had an epiphany. I always reasoned I was doing it for my family, but in reality it was always for me--for my selfish interests. I had a chance at greatness once upon a time, but I let the banalities of life and my pride get in the way. Sound familiar? By the time 50 years had passed and the cancer was diagnosed, I realized it was either now or never. And then there was you._

_I’m not going to apologize to you. You’re too smart for that. You recently told me to “stop working you.” You said, “For once, just stop working me.” It took some time for that to really sink in, but eventually it hit me like a truck. You were right, of course--I_ was _trying to work you and I_ had _gotten to a point where manipulating you, lying to you, “working” you was just normal to me. I don’t know why I let it get that far. I don't have to tell you that my feelings about our partnership have always been complicated. Part of me has always wanted to protect you, to keep you from harm, to treat you as my son. I'd like to think I'd go to the ends of the earth to save you from those that mean you harm. And the other part… well, you know the other part. The Heisenberg part. My evil twin that took control; my greedy, selfish interests that didn’t care who got hurt or destroyed or dead._

_It’s funny how much clarity a few months of dying alone in a cabin in New Hampshire can bring. If you’re reading this, you escaped. Ed was a huge help to me in those days and I hope he was able to guide you to peace, as well. A word of advice, however--don’t come back. You may be tempted to “come home” and check on how life is going without you, but don’t. I don’t know where you are, but anywhere is better than here. I have a mission to fulfill. You have your whole life ahead of you. Plus, it can be depressing to see how quickly everyone has forgotten about you. Except for law enforcement, of course. Look at me - I'm still trying to be your teacher even in the afterlife. I suppose I'll always seek to mentor you in some way or another._

_Jesse - I’ve just been so angry. At Skyler, at Hank, at the world, and most of all, at you. When I realized you were partnering with Hank, I felt that was the ultimate betrayal. How could you possibly talk to that man, about anything? He_ beat _you. He put you in the hospital and you wanted to confide in **him?** I wanted to kill you myself, and was angry that I didn’t get the chance. But I understand now. You needed to confess. I had hurt you, we had hurt each other, and you _needed_ it. My actions have had a profound impact on your life, and I know you can never forgive me and I’m not asking for that. I’ve done so many unforgivable things to you--I don't have to name them all; I'm sure you haven't forgotten. I had a lot of time to think about all the pain I inflicted upon you during those months in New Hampshire. I regret it. I regret it all. You and I have an understanding, Jesse. One I don't even possess with my own son. I know it's pathetic for me to say that now, and you're probably shaking your head in denial. But I know you. I _know _you._ And you know me. Perhaps better than anyone.

__

__

_Of course my number one regret will always be the way I treated my family and how I have to walk away from them, and how I have tainted and essentially ruined their legacy. But in a way, waking up and realizing what I’ve done to you is even worse. You aren’t my son. You are just a former student of mine, a victim of chance--if I didn’t see you that day on the ride-along, maybe you’d be the same happy-go-lucky small potatoes meth dealer who just liked to party all the time. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’d all probably be better off, actually. Actually, it occurs to me just now that you have probably seen the very worst side of me, much more than anyone else in my life, even Skyler. My highs and my lows, my greed, my apathy, my anger, my sadness. I don’t know what to think about that. I don’t know how to apologize for that._

_Skyler says that Walt Jr. will be home soon, so I better wrap this up. I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. Part of me really hopes you won't get caught in the crossfire tonight; I can’t make any promises. But I do **hope.** I hope that someday when you look back at this unfortunate period in your life, you’ll think of me without total contempt. I **hope** you can move on, make something out of yourself, as a sports medicine specialist (see--I do listen to you) or whatever makes you proud. You were a victim of circumstances, and I’ve always known you’re better than me. You’re a better person. A good person, despite it all. Go. Be a better person, and move on from this life you left behind. _

_Good luck, Jesse._

_\- Mr. White -_

Of course, he can't help himself--he can't seem to stop crying after reading this. Jesse’s first instinct is to tear the letter apart and burn it in the fireplace. How dare him. How can one man make him feel so many things all the time? He hates Walter White. He hates everything about him. And yet… Jesse knows he was closer to Walt than he ever was to his own father. Which makes him really fucking angry.

The worst shit of it is, Jesse realizes Walt died not from the cancer, but from a bullet while trying to save Jesse. Whenever he wants to be mad, just so goddamn mad at Walt, he knows that in the end, Walt died saving Jesse. In the end, he must have had second thoughts about everything. That look they shared before Jesse drove away from the compound, that meant something. Despite all of Walt's evil actions, despite doing his goddamn best to ruin Jesse in every way possible... Jesse knows they forgave each other in that moment. And so... Jesse knows this letter isn't complete bullshit.

Jesse doesn't know what to do now. Nothing has changed. He's still in Alaska, still wanted by the law, still has blood on his hands that he'll always have nightmares about. But maybe something has healed just a little. The tiniest fraction. The smallest amount possible. But it's better than nothing.

Feeling overwhelmed by it all, Jesse rushes outside and inhales the cold, fresh, piercing Alaskan air. It's almost more refreshing than having a cigarette. He looks up at the sky as though some kind of clarity will come to him. In that moment, he doesn't see, like, a crow or something fly by, the spirit of Walter White coming to say good-bye for the last time. But as he walks down the gravel road towards the mountain, he spots something shiny in the dirt. Jesse kneels down and picks it up. It's a magnet. Jesse can't help himself--he laughs and puts it in his pocket.

_So you better move fast  
Don't fool yourself  
In thinking you're more than you are  
With your arms outstretched to me  
Now it's sixteen miles to the promised land  
And i promise you i'm doing the best i can  
Now some days they last longer than others  
But this day by the lake went to fast  
And if you want me,  
You better speak up  
I won't wait  
So you better move fast_

**Author's Note:**

> Things I realize:  
> \- Walt did not have time to write this letter in canon, probably  
> \- He also probably really fucking hated Jesse before he saw him being a meth slave to the nazis
> 
> But you know how it is. You binge a show and watch 1232123 behind the scenes vids on youtube and slowly become obsessed with Aaron and Bryan's relationship and these things just happen.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


End file.
